


Offstage Performance

by Arrestzelle



Category: Rammstein
Genre: Collars, Friends With Benefits, Hand Jobs, M/M, Made In Germany Era, Master/Pet
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 01:39:41
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,592
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15719295
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Arrestzelle/pseuds/Arrestzelle
Summary: Inspired by the recent performance of Bück Dich for the tour, Ollie and Schneider realize they don't have to limit it only to the stage.





	Offstage Performance

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Chachamaruchan](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Chachamaruchan/gifts).



> This is for Cha, and absolutely _because_ of Cha. She posted [this gif](https://78.media.tumblr.com/47150e2434b15bed4ea22b15f7eba094/tumblr_pdn3qrwfMF1rvajymo1_540.gif) in the chat and I was like welp ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯ now I have to write that!
> 
> I'm not 100% happy with the result but, oh well.

Screaming and cheering swallows them whole. He can’t hear anything, except the fans and the deep melody playing from Richard’s keyboard. The many sea of faces watch them, focused solely on them and the act they’re putting on for them. Awe, surprise, amusement show on the faces of their fans. Ollie doesn’t watch them. He watches the steel flooring underneath them, stares at his slender hands placed upon the grating. He has his head ducked, muscular back curled, arms flexing as he moves closer towards Paul in a few languid steps, his knee pads sliding easily across the floor of the B-stage. Sweat brews under the fabric of his hood, under the collar hanging from his throat. He peeks towards the others, sees Flake meandering around with that ball gag in his mouth—Schneider is threatening Paul, leaning down towards him with a deep scowl. Paul shrinks behind his guitar, feigning fear.

Ollie turns away, ducks his head when Schneider’s piercing eyes land on him. A strange feeling of restlessness sits in his chest. He sits on his knees, hands placed flatly with his arms outstretched, his shoulders hunched and head lowered. He doesn’t want Schneider to harass him—but he also _does._ He pans his calm gaze across the fans, seeing mostly laughter and shock upon their faces. A firm nudge of a foot against his ass has him tensing up, regaining his rapt attention. He turns away from the fans, ducks his shoulders submissively and curls his back to bend over further. Schneider stands behind him—he can feel his shins, the cloth of his knee-high socks, brushing against his bare sides.

Remaining tense and silent, head respectfully dipped, he feels Schneider lean in closer, hovering over him—Ollie dares to peek over his shoulder. Schneider is watching him intently with a frown on his face. Or rather, _Frau_ is watching him with a frown on _her_ face. It’s hard to see this persona as anyone, or anything, but _Schneider._ Ollie looks into his blue eyes unwaveringly, until Schneider feints towards him with a jerk of his wild blonde locks, grimacing, followed by a threatening raise of the riding crop. Ollie curls in on himself, peeks back at him past his bicep submissively. Schneider seems satisfied; he turns and begins towards Till to begin harassing him.

Silently, Ollie watches Schneider rough up their vocalist, dragging him around and whipping him, until he forcefully yanks him up onto his knees, and then he’s shoving the mic in his mouth. He begins demanding cheers from the crowd, lifting a broad hand with a tilt of his head and an arched brow. Points at Till. The fans scream. Ollie continues watching him, enthralled and hypnotized. A subtle, simmering anticipation boils inside of him, knowing what will come after the show. That he will be privileged with a continuation.

 

* * *

 

The air conditioner hums from the other side of the hotel room. The drapery hanging over the expansive window flutters in the breeze. Everything is silent, save for the air conditioner, the distant sound of people conversing in the next room, the occasional crinkle of Schneider turning the page of a magazine he grabbed from the catering room back at the venue.

It’s cold in the room. Goosebumps come in waves across Ollie’s pale skin, over muscular arms. Schneider lounges back on the bed, legs outstretched and crossed, leaning against the feather pillows. The disheveled blonde wig hangs around his face. His makeup is prettier this time. He put greater effort and time into the routine, unlike the transformation that unfortunately has to be rushed before they’re hurrying onstage. Didn’t just smear it on to replicate femininity.

The leather collar is heavy and strangely comforting around Ollie’s throat, both a physical and mental weight. The chain of the leash loudly clinks whenever Schneider turns a page of the magazine, considering the handle is wound around his wrist. Ollie watches him silently from where he lays curled up on the other side of the bed, stares at his handsome _(beautiful)_ face.

Ollie lacks the typical hood, as well as the top that could hardly be considered a top to begin with. All he’s wearing is a pair of black joggers, soft and comfortable on his long legs, clinging to narrow hips. He continues watching Schneider, silently, completely still save for the expansion and deflation of his torso with every breath.

Schneider doesn’t glance at him for a while. For ten minutes, he just flips through the magazine, looking rather relaxed lounging back, wearing only the floral robe and his stage shorts. He lacks the knee-high socks, the arm bracers. When his icy blue eyes flick up to look at Ollie, Ollie submissively drops his gaze to the gaudy pattern of the hotel covers.

A moment of tense silence passes. Ollie can feel his stare on him. He turns his head to rest his bearded cheek against the bed, shy.

“Come, Ollie.”

A slight tug to the leash. Ollie hesitates, embarrassed. He takes a moment to gather the courage to look at Schneider, sees an impatient look on his painted face. Ollie quietly, slowly moves up onto his hands and knees and crawls closer to him, the bed dipping and shifting from the motion. He rests back on his calves beside him, peeks up at him past his brow, head lowered. He doesn’t have a gag in his mouth, but he feels just as effectively silenced. Schneider smiles thinly at him, winds the leash around his hand until it’s taut.

He gently pulls, pulls until Ollie shifts closer, close enough their breaths are shared, their eyes locked. Joining the scent of the freshly washed covers is the floral perfume Schneider must have bought earlier. It’s lovely, and a nice touch. Ollie searches in Schneider’s beautiful blue eyes, waiting for a command. Surprising him, Schneider gives no command—all he gives him is a touch. He raises his free hand, begins scratching his nails along his beard, teasing the coarse hairs with a faint smile growing on his pink lips. It feels good. Ollie relaxes slightly, watches him with gentler eyes.

The gesture means much more this time—he’s petting him. Schneider continues scratching at his beard, watching him with a thin smirk that exposes a sliver of teeth, his eyes becoming lidded. Ollie’s face becomes hot, his hands grasping weak fistfuls of the duvet underneath them. He watches Schneider timidly as he continues petting him. Then Schneider’s broad fingers leave his beard, for him to cup his hand around his jaw instead, gripping it. He squeezes, a dominating gesture that has submissiveness swelling in Ollie again.

“You’re a good boy,” Schneider murmurs, his voice deep and smooth like honey, his gaze softening to something gentle and loving. Ollie shudders, blushes a little deeper. He ducks his head shyly, peeks up at him. Schneider grins. He strokes his thumb over his strong jaw, against coarse hair, searching his face with fondness in his blue eyes.

“Will you give your master a kiss?” he whispers, tilting his head slightly with a shaking of his curly blonde locks. Ollie flicks his tongue between his lips. He nods a little, bashfully. Schneider looks pleased. He continues holding his leash taut, continues to do as Ollie shuffles closer to lean in. He angles his head to press a feather-like kiss to his cheek, against the artificial blush that Schneider previously applied. He’s warm. The aroma of his perfume intensifies, this close.

“Good boy,” Schneider repeats, smiling when Ollie draws back to look into his lidded blue eyes, “You’re so good for me. Will you kiss me on the lips now?”

Ollie’s face burns. He likes it when he calls him a good boy, as humiliating as it is. He nods again. Leaning in, Ollie watches Schneider’s handsome face through hooded eyes when he presses their lips together, slowly. Schneider closes his eyes, drifts his hand from Ollie’s jaw to cup the side of his head, fingers fanning out against the back of his neck, thumb resting over his ear. He returns the kiss by angling his head and firmly pursing his lips against his pet’s.

Accompanied by the humming of the air conditioner and the distant sound of footsteps and laughter, the wet sound of their kissing fills the room. Ollie’s ears are burning at this point, his stomach flipping with anticipation and nervousness. Their lips move together intimately: overlapping, pushing, sliding, tasting. Before it could intensify, Schneider pulls away, earning a weak gaze from Ollie. Smiling with wet, kissed lips, Schneider looks at him fondly.

He strokes his hand down over Ollie’s neck, to his bare shoulder. Ollie licks his lips, looks at him with an alertness in his eyes. He’s half-hard in his joggers. He wants Schneider to notice.

“Will you lay back against the bed for me, Ollie?” Schneider purrs, tossing the magazine onto the floor, his eyes widening with excitement, “I want to have fun with my pet.”

Ollie’s heart leaps, his stomach coiling with heat. He eagerly obeys with a duck of his head—Schneider unhooks the leash and flings it onto the floor as well, for the younger man to move onto his back, sprawling out horizontally across the bed, his long legs curling up to reduce his size. He rests back on his elbows, watches the other man with calm eyes. His naked torso is laid out for him, rippled with muscle and tension. Schneider gazes down upon him with hunger in his eyes. He gets up on his knees, crawls over Ollie’s legs to straddle his thighs. The visual of Schneider climbing on him, his robe open and exposing his soft stomach and fit chest, the blonde curls framing his face—Ollie stares, enamored by his beauty.

Reaching out, Schneider runs his broad hands up over his sides, across his muscular pecs. He gropes him there firmly, hard enough it has Ollie tensing up. Then he brings his hands back down, his fingers gliding along the slopes of his body, made up by bone and muscle. One hand twists down to cup around his groin, feels his hard-on against his palm. Schneider smiles.

“You’re so eager, aren’t you?” he purrs. Ollie is speechlessly embarrassed, flustered. He looks down at the broad hands on his body, too shy to meet his gaze. He nods a little. Schneider hums thoughtfully, begins to squeeze and rub his cock through the layers of clothing. Ollie’s mouth falls open. Schneider pauses to move off of him, kneels beside him with the floral robe hanging open widely.

“Spread your thighs for me?” Schneider asks politely, as if he wouldn’t just reach for the riding crop if Ollie protested. Ollie silently obeys. He lets his knees fall open. He watches, hands in fists atop the bed, head lowered, as the other man begins rubbing his fingers and palm along the stiff length of his cock. It feels good, hot and heavy through the fabric. It has warm arousal simmering in his belly. He feels more blood rush south, into his dick.

“Your body is so responsive,” Schneider observes, his other hand roaming up over his torso to begin thumbing at one of his hardened nipples. Ollie drifts his tongue between his dry lips, his eyes narrowing from the pleasure of his touches—his face is burning, his stomach clenching.

“Do you like it when I touch you?” Schneider asks, groping firmly at his cock through the soft material of his joggers. He has a strong grasp, a firm squeezing of his powerful fingers around his shaft. Thighs twitching, Ollie makes the quietest noise. He keeps his eyes shyly downcast as he nods. Usually he isn’t this bashful. This whole situation is still overwhelming to him.

“Good,” the other man muses, smiling to himself as he grinds the heel of his hand into the prominent tent made by his erection—Ollie lets out a shaky exhale. Schneider shifts closer, hooks his fingers into the waistbands of both his joggers and his briefs. Ollie silently lifts his hips, lets him wiggle them down to his thighs, enough to expose his cock, which flips up against his heaving belly. Like the rest of him, it’s lengthy, impressive in size. It’s flushed a deep red, eager for more touch.

“Look at you,” Schneider coos, bringing his hand up to grip his shaft again in a hot, calloused hand, “You’re so hard for me. Good boy.”

Ollie presses his lips together, teeth clenching. Embarrassed, he remains tense and silent. His belly floods with a punch of arousal from the praise. His cock throbs in Schneider’s grasp. Schneider hums, amused. Releasing his erection momentarily, Schneider plants his hand on the bed and leans over Ollie to pull open the nightstand drawer. He retrieves a small tube of lubricant, which has Ollie’s eyes widening in surprise. He must have bought that on his own time—Ollie didn’t know he had that until now.

Schneider squeezes a dollop into his palm, screws back on the cap before setting it aside. Then he shifts closer to him, smiling down at his flushed face, and reaches in to grip his hard cock again, which had rested innocently against his clenched belly. He begins to pump his hand over his shaft, his touch now slick with the lube. It makes a significantly intense difference. Ollie’s mouth falls open. A groan emerges from within his throat. His brow furrows. Schneider grins.

“Good boy,” he praises, “Feels good, doesn’t it?”

The heat coiling and twisting in Ollie’s stomach is unbearably overwhelming. His legs are clenching up, toes curling into the covers, his fingers clutching at the duvet, his abs flexing as Schneider continues stroking at his aching cock. Ollie tips his head back against the bed, grunts under his breath. The slick sounds of Schneider’s moving hand fills the room, a dirty sound that only contributes to Ollie’s embarrassment.

A second touch joining the first has Ollie lifting his head to watch. Schneider begins rubbing at one of his lean thighs with his other hand, grasps him there and squeezes. Risking a peek up towards Schneider’s face has him realizing the other man is watching him closely, studying his face as he touches him. Embarrassed, Ollie drops his gaze—a submissive gesture.

Schneider alternates between slowly pulling at his length, twisting his hand on the upstroke, and then pumping his hand on his cock quickly in fast bursts—it makes for a differing sensation that keeps Ollie suspended with pleasure. Ollie’s entire body tenses up, muscles clenching and hands locking into fists. That climbing heat in his gut has intensified so greatly, so suddenly, it has his entire body burning up. He groans again, head tipping back into the bed once more. He collapses onto his back, no longer supported by his elbows.

He begins to weakly thrust his hips up into Schneider’s hand. Schneider just hums in encouragement, moving his broad hand over his angry red cock unwaveringly, without reprieve. The increasing heat and pressure reaches the breaking point; Ollie starts to shake, his hands in white-knuckled fists. His thighs clench up, his jaw locked. Schneider continues working over his dripping cock with a hot, firm grasp, easily maintaining the non-stop tempo considering his lifetime of drum playing. His wrists don’t get tired easily. And it’s certainly showing now.

“C-Coming,” Ollie grunts, a choked whisper. Immediately, Schneider brings his hand in-between his thighs to cup his balls, squeezes them in his fingers, holds them as he says lowly, firmly, “Good boy. Come for me. Now.”

Ollie gasps, blind-sided by the strong command for something so filthy. He’s then consumed by the euphoria; it knocks over him like a crashing wave, swallows him whole, leaves him reeling. It courses through his body like a flash of lightning under his skin, making him feel hyper-sensitive and rubbed raw. He squeezes his eyes shut so tightly he sees stars. His lower half rocks with his orgasm, ropes of his cum shooting out to land across his heaving belly. Schneider continues stroking at his flexing cock, at a slower pace now.

Panting heavily, Ollie comes down from the blinding high, slowly, like a receding tide. He sags back into the bed, shaking, his eyes cracking open—his vision swims for a second before readjusting. Sluggishly, he raises up onto his elbows again, watches through lidded eyes as Schneider pulls at his flushed shaft a few more times, easing out the remnants of his cum, which rolls down over his broad fingers. He made a mess of himself. His stomach is covered in stripes of his semen.

“You let out a lot, didn’t you?” Schneider teases, gently resting his spent cock on his belly, amongst the evidence of his orgasm. Ollie, still regaining his breath, says nothing, just flicks his weakened gaze up to meet Schneider’s. Schneider smiles down at him, eyes lidded fondly. Ollie swallows hard, looks up at him with his vulnerable expression becoming schooled again. Schneider grins slightly, exposing a sliver of teeth.

When he plants a hand on the bed and leans in towards him, Ollie’s eyes widen slightly. He looks up into Schneider’s beautiful blue irises just as the other man angles his head to kiss him. Ollie closes his eyes. Their lips begin to move together, softly and intimately like before. Replacing the heat in his belly is a warmth in his core. He finds he likes kissing the other man. They should do it more often—it doesn’t have to be restricted to only these times, when they practice this sort of thing.

Their mouths overlap together, a tender back and forth pursing of their lips, before Schneider sits back with a final kiss to Ollie’s lips. He looks down at him with a slight grin on his face, eyes lidded fondly. Ollie licks his lips, searches his face. Schneider then moves to get up, ordering firmly with a gesture of a hand, “Stay.”

Ollie nods, watches him loyally as he turns towards the bathroom. Ollie sees him enter, flipping on the light. Then he hears the running of water. Schneider emerges a moment later, now brandishing a damp hand towel. Ollie is silent and still as the other man rejoins him on the bed. He reaches out to begin cleaning up his stomach with gentle wipes of the handcloth.

“I’ll get you cleaned up,” Schneider says lowly, peeking over at him past his wild blonde locks, “And then we need to get some sleep. I’m exhausted and we have a big day tomorrow.”

Pausing, Ollie suddenly feels guilty. Schneider finishes cleaning off his stomach, his free hand resting lightly on Ollie’s hip, and then he rises again to toss the soiled rag in the trash.

“If this is becoming a burden, we don’t have to,” Ollie says quietly as he lifts his hips to tug his underwear and joggers back up, earning a glance from blue eyes, “Your energy is more important, especially when we’re touring.”

“Not at all,” Schneider says calmly, reaching up to hook his fingers into the hairline of the wig, raking it back and off his head, exposing his disheveled undercut, “It’s a release for me, as well. I like doing it with you.”

He says this with a shy smile. Ollie relaxes, relieved. He nods. Schneider tosses the wig on the dresser, shrugs off the floral robe to drape it over his suitcase to deal with in the morning. After changing into a pair of comfortable sweatpants, Schneider glances towards Ollie, holding up a finger asking for patience with a pointed look and a smile, before he disappears into the bathroom.

Ollie lays back against the pillows, folds his arms up underneath his head, fingers curling against the smooth skin of his shaved scalp. The warmed leather of the collar digs into the skin of his wrists. He actually forgot he was wearing it. He had become accustomed to the weight of it. He doesn’t remove it; only Schneider can. For two minutes he lays there, studying the ceiling, listening to the sounds of Schneider washing his face and brushing his teeth.

When he rejoins Ollie in the bedroom, he’s reverted back into the awkward, kind, humble Schneider he knows. He smiles warmly at Ollie as he rounds the bed. Ollie watches him silently, eyes relaxed and lips in a passive line.

“Come here,” Schneider says quietly as he climbs onto the bed, laying back into the pillows beside Ollie. Ollie unravels his arms from underneath his head, turns to the other man and slides closer across the downy covers of the hotel bed. Schneider grins slightly, exposing faint dimples. He gazes at him fondly, draws his muscular arms around him. Ollie melts into his chest, drapes one arm around his side, fingers curling into the warm skin of his back as he nuzzles into his neck. Schneider’s broad hand cups the back of his head, fingers stroking at his skin and the stiff material of the collar, across the rings that are attached to it.

“You’re a good boy,” Schneider murmurs lowly, and then he begins undoing the buckle to the collar, one-handed. Ollie remains silent, his face hidden in Schneider’s shoulder and neck—being told such a thing renders him both flustered and content. He likes it when Schneider praises him. Schneider slides off the collar, tosses it aside.

Now it is just the two of them, without the roles, without the façade.

**Author's Note:**

> babypaulchen.tumblr.com


End file.
